


Broken Parameters

by StoriesWeTell



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Post-Episode: 02e25 Resolutions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24239188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesWeTell/pseuds/StoriesWeTell
Summary: This is a Resolutions story! As any Janeway/Chakotay fanfic writer'll have you know, we all try our hand at one of these at some point in our fanfic carreer, and this is my take on what happened if Kathryn had loosened up on New Earth a little sooner, like a month or so before Voyager came back for them. Also, this fic won't acknowledge the presence of any monkeys, because I really can't have them tramping around interrupting sexy times between these two.This is mostly just smut and fluff, with a hint of an angsty plot twined in there somewhere. If you don't expect anything more than that then you're good to go. Enjoy!I've been working on this for about a month now, and it's nearly done. I figured I'd just start posting while I wrap the last of it up.I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think, and any constructive criticism is ALWAYS welcome.I will try to update this story every other day or so. But like I said, it's mostly complete anyway, so I won't leave you waiting endlessly in between updates.
Relationships: Chakotay & Kathryn Janeway, Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 25
Kudos: 72





	1. Setting Parameters

**_Voyager: A month prior_ **

“Commander, we'll need to review the ship's systems. I'll handle propulsion, environmental and communication. You'll be responsible for sensors, weapons and transporters,” she all but barked.

“Aye, Captain. I'll have a report to you by 1800 hours.”

“Check with phaser maintenance. See if they solved that problem with the pre-fire chamber temperature.”

“Yes, ma'am. I'll see to it,” he replied, picking up exactly where they’d left off, falling back into what should feel familiar, but what now felt forced, uncomfortable even.

It showed.

She sensed Harry’s suspicious sidelong glances, watched Tom’s hands hover above the ship’s con for a second longer than was necessary. They undoubtedly wondered, as did she, if all of Kathryn Janeway had been replaced by the captain the second she’d slipped the uniform back on?

And what of the commander? 

How’d they fall back into their respective roles so easily? After three months of roughing it in the woods?

She supposed that was what they were thinking, wondering about. Had she changed? Had they changed? Had _things_ changed? 

=/\=

**_New Earth: One month prior to Voyager’s return_ **

“We need to define some parameters… about us.”

“I’m not sure I can define parameters, but I can tell you a story.”

It turned out that his story moved her to the core, much more so than she ever thought possible. He’d never told her he felt that way about their working together before, had only ever shown his dedication through hard work and focus, all achieved from a respectable distance. He had become a solid presence in her life and she valued his professionalism, had come to trust his loyalty to her cause - their cause. But she’d attributed that loyalty to his nature, to the unbreakable ethics that defined him.

He’d known, as had she at the time, that combining forces and letting go of past wrong doings, had been the only way forward for both their crews if they were to stand a chance out there in the proverbial wild. They were all alone in the quadrant. A truce under Starfleet rules was the only thing that had made sense.

He’d agreed. 

But.. he’d been suspicious of her at first, thinking his “promotion” had only been for show, to collar the Maquis that served under him. And maybe it had been a strategically sound move on her part. His position as commander next to her on the bridge exuded comradeship. If the Maquis leader was willing to join forces with Starfleet to get home, how could his trustworthy crew ever resist? He knew as well as she did that leaders led by example, and so, per request his underlings had followed. Mutinous thoughts had been mostly taken care of by their joining of crews, with the painful exception of Seska and Jonas. She regretted what had happened there, had wondered in the early days if there had been anything they could have done differently. But then, chances were that there would always be rebels among rebels, and so she’d let that feeling go. She’d been lucky enough there’d only been two to defy Chakotay’s example, two out of thirty-two Maquis crewmembers. Those weren’t bad odds, and in the end, Seska and Jonas’s betrayal had only solidified her trust in him. He’d stuck with her through it, and unlike them, he’d never betrayed her once.

Sure, she’d used him, but by the end of their time on Voyager she’d learned to trust him like all captains learned to trust and depend on their XOs. It made sense, he provided a sense of security she learned to count on. He’d become as trustworthy a friend as Tuvok, and she appreciated him for it.

But now this, this was something else entirely; he’d just exposed hidden parameters in an already established algorithm, exposed veiled thoughts. He hadn’t just highlighted what was already there: loyalty. No, his words underlined an emotion that went far beyond any type of common sense.

She could only stare, hold onto his hand like a lifeline. It was too complicated; she wasn’t sure if she could move beyond what he was proposing. 

“I need time,” she finally stated.

He inclined his head, and let go of her hand.

“That,” he smiled “I _can_ do.”

=/\=

**_Present Day: Voyager_ **

“Coffee.”

“Specify.”

“Coffee. Black” she snapped.

“Specify,” the replicator repeated.

“You’ve got to be ki–-coffee. Black. Hot!”

“Unable to comply.”

“Why the hell not?!”

“Replicator is offline.”

“Is this a joke?”

“Specify,” the machine droned.

“Janeway to Torres.”

“Torres here”

“I’ve got a malfunctioning replicator in my quarters, know anything about that?”

A short pause.

“Ah, yes–” the chief engineer hesitated. “It appears as though Ensign Vorik blew out a gel pack during routine maintenance on deck three this morning. He should have replaced it by now.”

“Well, what the hell is taking so long?” Janeway barked. “Get on it, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, captain,” the younger woman bit back, a hint of annoyance attached to the latter word.

“Torres out.”

Janeway brought her hands up to massage her temples; a headache forming where her tips applied pressure to relieve some of the pain pounding away inside her skull. She had half a mind to chalk the migraine up to withdrawal symptoms, but she knew that that was only part of the problem.

In truth, she hadn’t been able to fall back into her old routine quite as effortlessly as the crew had expected her to. She’d been irritable, moody and downright hostile whenever circumstances forced her into manmade corners. She’d never considered herself a violent sort of woman, but the urge to wreck havoc, pick a fight with a hostile alien species, or just throw one of Neelix’s dishes around the mess hall proved to be harder to resist these days.

It had become obvious to her that she needed a distraction, one that forced her mind away from the obvious.

=/\=

**_New Earth: Three weeks prior to Voyager’s return_ **

“A vegetable garden?”

“One just outside of the house,” she said as she set down the glass of wine that he’d just poured for her. “Like the gardens people used to have throughout the 20th and 21st century. Although, I’m not sure many of those were vegetable gardens, but it would most certainly provide food tastier than the emergency supply rations we’ve been living of off.”

He nodded, scrutinizing her face with prudent scepticism.

“What?” she challenged.

“I can see the appeal,” he said as he pulled a sweater over his head and crouched down next to the campfire beside her. The first stars were already poking through the twilight, and with the setting of the sun a colder wind now blew across the clearing, adversely challenging the flames to rise higher or surrender to the breeze. 

“But?”

“I guess, I’m just surprised.”

“Surprised?”

He studied her face for a moment longer, taking in the childlike gleam that he’d never seen sparkle in her eyes before, and then shook his head.

“Never mind.”

“No,” she straightened, and in a manner that was quite bold reached out and took his hand. “Tell me.”

“Okay,” he shifted closer, and turned her hand over in his lap, softly caressing the inside of her palm with his thumb. Her lashes flickered in the dim light, and he felt her stiffen for a moment, torn between pulling away and acquiescing.

“That,” he whispered “Right there.”

She relaxed her hand, and he knew she understood. 

“I can’t quite tell if you’ve accepted life here, or if you’re trying to force yourself to accept something that you’re not ready to fully commit to, yet.”

She bit her lip, and looked away. He kept surprising her, and in a way it wasn’t surprising at all. She’d never allowed herself to get to know him fully, not really. Nor had she allowed for him to get to know her. But life here was different. Over the past couple of months, she’d lowered her guard more and more, and had gotten to know the man that sat in front of her quite intricately, much better than she’d ever known the man in the uniform. Two years they’d worked alongside each other, two years they’d spent on the bridge together, but not together at all, not really. Sure, he’d always been loyal, held strong convictions that had led him down a controversial path of self-made righteousness, but she’d always known that about him. Now, it turned out, he was much more than that and, yet, not as complicated as she made him out to be. 

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “But I know I’m trying.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he tugged at her hand, inviting her to scoot closer.

She only hesitated for a moment; the protestation coming from a place of formality, from a commandeering voice that held no power over her. Not anymore.

His arm slipped around her waist, and she reflexively leaned her head on his shoulder. It felt nice, and why shouldn’t it? He was right, parameters or not, there was no one but herself holding her back. At the end of the day the reality of their situation was really quite simple: few responsibilities mixed with unlimited time that stretched out far and wide before them, and their own choices of how to spend it.

She shuddered.

“Cold?”

“No,” she shook her head.

He pulled her closer all the same and she appreciatively nuzzled his neck, her nose cold, all of the rest ablaze. He shivered in response, and it was all she could do to further resist the flutter in her own chest. He smelled good, felt good, and her lips involuntarily brushed against his neck, subconsciously wondering if he also tasted good. 

“Kathryn,” he murmured hot against her ear.

Her hand came up to his chest, and he grabbed it, twining his fingers with hers, resisting.

“Stop,” he breathed, a barely contained whisper spilling over with want.

Should she? She’d been unsure of what to do after his bold revelation a mere week ago. During his time on Voyager he’d firmly kept those specific cards to his chest, protecting himself from potential carelessness. If he had shown his hand then, it would surely have complicated matters between them. But hadn’t she been doing something similar? Regardless of her feelings for Mark, had there not been moments when she had wanted to escape from her responsibilities, and give into the mutual attraction she felt simmer just beneath the surface. Over the years, she’d tried to find a simulated kind of release instead, on the holodeck, with holograms that had not been meant to be used in such specific manners, but how else could she have been expected to rid herself of the boiling want that had wound itself around her heart. Yes, she was the captain, but she’d never been able to blot Kathryn out completely. She wasn’t a Vulcan, had never aspired to become one.

She softly kissed his neck, nipping at his skin, satisfying her blatant curiosity.

It was all the encouragement he needed.

His fingers twined in her hair, pulling at and turning her head slightly, claiming her lips on an incomprehensible sigh, and she was more than willing, welcoming the blissful warmth that spread through her body at his touch, latching on to that one heated moment she wished could last forever.

She pushed herself closer to him, the desire to be touched stifling, overwhelming. She only managed to hold herself upright for a couple of seconds before his weight forced her down and her back hit the grass with a soft thump. He fell alongside her while his tongue fought for access beyond her lips. She reluctantly pulled back to accommodate him better, and then gasped as a rush of sensations rolled over her where his tongue duelled with hers in a battle that gratified both. She felt his hand on her neck, sliding down to her breasts, attempting to match her passion, vying for dominance, which could be attained by either.

In the end, he won, by a slight margin, and only because she hadn’t realized how incredibly starved she’d been for this type of human contact; how much she’d craved the connection provided by a touch that went beyond, and proved to be much more intricate than a touch created by infinite amounts of ones and zeroes held together by force fields and holo emitters. She desired this man much more. A real heartbeat, a real body, a real touch.

But was it real?

 _Well, is it?_ That nasty little voice in her head challenged.

She hesitated. 

One of his hands slid under her shirt, flattening and pressing down right where the muscles stiffened beneath his touch.

He stopped and pulled back, looking up at her, scanning her eyes for answers while a confused frown drifted across his desire ridden features; she softly pushed against his chest, signalling the end of whatever it was they’d just begun. 

He sighed, but drew back, wincing as he straightened, trying, but failing, to hide the painfully obvious.

“Talk to me,” he ordered, but his voice was soft, understanding. 

She brought one hand up to his cheek, her eyes pensively tracing the linear shapes and bended lines of his tattoo, before speaking.

“I’m having a hard time understanding what I’m actually feeling.”

His mouth curved against her hand, and he tenderly brushed his lips along the inside of her palm.

“I know.”

Her brows shot up.

He took her hand from his lips, curled her fingers around his, and let his gaze drift to the flames licking the dark sky. The night had snuck up on them when it had lost their attention; he took note of the small firefly like creatures skirting past the flames now, looking as though they did not quite understand how this sun could be so close, and feel so dangerously hot at the same time. He could relate. 

“I’ve not been with anyone since Seska,” he said.

Seska.

That really was the last person she wanted to talk about in this place. Especially, under these circumstances. She frowned thoughtfully.

“And I imagine it’s been even longer for you,” he continued.

She swallowed, her expression softening.

She’d been tempted by a few aliens on the way, but really the only release she’d had was…

“I made good use of the holodeck every now and again,” she smirked.

He turned to her, a small glint appearing in his eyes as the meaning of her words settled tentatively between them. She appreciated that about him. He understood what it took to be the captain, to be the responsible one, while also knowing what it meant to have unfulfilled needs.

“Me too,” he admitted.

She laughed. Genuine amusement bubbling up from inside her; he smiled, momentarily enchanted by her childish amusement, before turning serious again.

“I’m incredibly attracted to you,” he confessed. “and not just because you’re the only other person on this planet,” he added, as though that really needed to be made clear. 

Desire flashed white hot across her face, and he didn’t wait for her consent this time. His eyes found her mouth before his lips did, his intentions crystal clear. She didn’t protest, let him pull her to him in one swift motion as his lips descended on hers once more, more demanding this time.

“Right now, I really don’t care whether it’s lust or more, Kathryn,” he said, pulling back slightly.

She felt her last resolves weaken, melting into his embrace fully.

Oh, she was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.


	2. Shifting Parameters

**_Present Day: Voyager_ **

“It’s like someone stuck a pole up her ass and twisted it three times before asking any of us how high they should stick it up there,” B’Elanna raged before she attacked Neelix’s homemade Tera Nut Souffle with a knife that wasn’t quite as blunt as Harry would have liked for it to have been.

“Look, she’s been through a lot,” he argued.

“ _She_ has been through a lot?!” B’Elanna all but shouted, turning her knife on Harry in an accusatory manner. “She was living the good life on some rotten Sto-vo-kor of a planet. What about us, eh? We risked the whole goddamn ship for her, and we hardly ever got a ‘thank you’.”

“Well,” Harry began, shifting his chair backwards a couple of inches. “She did specifically order us to not contact the Vidiians­, and­­--”

“Are you serious, Starfleet?” B’Elanna cut in, slamming the knife down on the table with a force that would surely leave a noticeable dent. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair, she hadn’t called him _Starfleet_ in a long time.

“I’m not saying we were wrong,” he put up his hands in defence. “I’m just saying that I can see how she’d be less than pleased with us at the moment.”

“We put our lives on the line for her!”

“And I’m sure she appreciates it,” he countered.

A string of unintelligible, but possibly highly unflattering, Klingon words slipped from the young engineer’s mouth. Harry just stared, unsure of how to respond to what he couldn’t fully comprehend.

When she was done she only huffed, her shattered rage turned inwards, and to Harry’s relief she resumed her prior attack on the soufflé instead of continuing to wound him with words he felt he really had done nothing to deserve. 

“Anything the matter?” a familiar voice cut in from behind.

“No, commander,” Harry quickly turned to his superior, preventing B’Elanna from emptying her mouth in time to refill it with whatever stream of unbecoming Klingon words she could further assault his ears with. “We’re fine.”

Chakotay studied them through suspicious slits, then took a seat opposite the engineer and the young ensign, unconvinced.

“Anything on your mind, Lieutenant?” he turned to B’Elanna. 

“As a matter of fact,” she began, swallowing down the last of her food. “The captain’s been a complete pain in the ass ever since we saved you two from a lifetime of isolation. You’d think she’d be a little more grateful you’re not still stuck on that rock. But no, instead she just assigned Vorik to scrubbing the plasma conduits on deck three this morning, after he accidently blew out a gel-pack that gave her precious little replicator some performance issues.”

Harry choked on his coffee. Subtle euphemisms had never been B’Elanna’s strong suit when she got like this. Frankness was how she rolled. It intimidated the hell out of him, and honestly, he would actually prefer scrubbing the plasma conduits on deck three himself right about now, anything from being witness to this train wreck of a conversation.

“Torres!” Chakotay boomed.

 _Oh_ , she was in for it now.

Harry pushed his chair back another couple of inches; where the hell was Tom when you needed a clean escape? 

“Don’t you Torres me, Chakotay” she pointed a finger at him. “I’ve got a warp core to run, and she’s put one of mine on a completely pointless detail--.”

“ _She_ is the captain, and _she_ can do whatever she damn well pleases,” Chakotay responded.

“Well, maybe _she_ should resume pleasing her precious commander then, since she sure as hell isn’t doing this ship and its crew any favours.”

Rage detonated in Chakotay’s eyes, and Harry’s jaw all but dropped to the floor. No, no, no, she had not just said that; he had not just heard that.

“B’Elanna,” Chakotay began, his voice cold as ice; the entire mess hall silent, every single crew member doing his or her damnest to pretend not to listen in on the escalation that was about to occur. “You’re relieved of duty effective immediately.”

“Excuse me?” she gaped.

“And confined to quarters until further notice,” he swallowed dangerously, never breaking eye contact. “Get out of my sight!”

“Chakotay!” she exclaimed.

“NOW!”

B’Elanna was wise enough to know when she’d crossed a line; Harry could see the instant regret swim in her eyes as she reined the temperamental Klingon half of her personality back inside.

Too late now. 

She stood, and with her head held high marched straight out of the mess hall.

Harry blinked several times before he dared to move again, the commander remained seated beside him. The fight visibly draining out of him, while low whispers started up all around them again.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Harry,” he spoke, his forehead dropping to his fist, elbow on the table.

“Don’t worry about it, sir,” he scrapped his throat, finding his voice. “She was completely out of line.”

“Was she?”

“Yes, sir.”

Chakotay silently regarded him for a moment.

“What do you really think, Harry?”

What did he really think? Nobody had ever asked him such a question before, not when it came to command decisions like these. He was only a second year Starfleet ensign after all; although he supposed no other ensign in the history of Starfleet outside of Voyager had been through quite as much as he had been. He more than once wondered when he’d finally be promoted to Lieutenant. Soon, he hoped. Although, now probably wasn’t the right time to bring up such a request. Both the captain and the commander hadn’t appeared to be in a receptive mood as of late. 

“Off the record, sir?”

The commander nodded.

“I think that, for whatever reason, the captain might be having some difficulties readjusting to life on Voyager,” he hesitated, speaking out loud what the entire crew had been thinking. “Evidenced by her somewhat extreme punishment of Vorik this morning,” he paused. “That, and the fact she hasn’t butted heads with B’Elanna once since they first met.”

Chakotay sighed.

“But that doesn’t mean B’Elanna didn’t cross a line just now,” he offered. “In fact, in your place, I’d probably have taken away her holodeck privileges on top of confining her to quarters. You might have come down on her too easy, sir.”

The commander chuckled, and stood.

“You’re a good man, Harry,” he slapped him on the back. “Thank you for your honesty.” 

Harry smiled, oddly flattered by the older man’s rare show of approval.

“Thank you, sir.”

 _Now about that promotion_ , his mind nudged him, but the commander had already gone, and as Harry turned around to locate him, he only just caught the mess hall doors close definitively behind his commanding officer’s retreating figure.

 _Damnit,_ the young ensign sighed and shook his head.

Maybe, some day, he’d scrounge up enough courage to ask for that promotion.

_Some day._

=/\=

**_New Earth: Two weeks prior to Voyager’s return_ **

“They’re all coming along quite nicely,” she beamed, more than a little proud of the idyllic little garden they’d put together in the past week. Some of the seedlings were already starting to sprout above ground, and for some reason seemed to be growing much faster than they ought to. Something in the ground, maybe, or the atmosphere? Something worth researching for sure the analyst inside her marvelled. She would take some readings later, learn the actually lay of whatever lay _under_ the land.

“Very,” Chakotay said, as he came up behind her. His arms involuntarily wound around her waist, drawing her closer to him on an impulse.

“Very nicely,” he whispered in her ear. 

She supressed a shiver.

“Your distracting me won’t actually work, you know?” she said, turning herself around in his arms, and reaching up to tap his nose with the tip of a dirty index finger. He wiggled his nose under her touch, and slipped a hand underneath her loose fitting sweater in response, a wicked twinkle appearing in his eyes. 

“You have no idea to what lengths I’m willing to go,” he said, softly trailing his lips down her neck, pressing light, mind numbing kisses to flushed skin, right where her collarbone poked through the fabric. 

A throaty moan slipped from her lips, and her eyes fluttered closed. This felt far too good; too dangerously satisfying to deny. 

The past week had been filled with work, and some such _distractions_. Initially, they’d vowed not to move forward too quickly, to make sure that their minds would have ample time to catch up to the particulars of their hormone packed emotions, which far too often seemed to be in favour of disregarding any of the problematic consequences their impulsive actions might lead to in the long run. But as it turned out the promise itself had been much too idealistic, and had proven to be an outright disaster in practice. Sure, during the day they easily found ways to keep their minds occupied. He’d help her with the garden in the morning, and would then disappear into the woods right after lunch. She suspected he was working on a secret project of his own, but by the time he’d get back, her interest in whatever secrets he was hiding behind the trees had waned, to be replaced by an insatiable hunger as soon as his fingers came within an inch of her skin.

Yesterday evening she’d discovered a particularly sensitive spot behind his left ear. In turn, he’d found the one spot that made her knees grow weak, right where her collarbone dipped on an inhale, and in that manner their nights had been solely dedicated to uncovering unexplored paths and breaking established parameters. Parameters they would reset again come morning; never quite crossing that one line that they both longed to cross with reckless abandon.

His lips brushed against her temple, his breath hot on her ear as he whispered,

“I’m really sick and tired of resetting these damned parameters every morning.”

A ball of warm desire dropped firmly in the pit of her stomach, blotting out any and all additional thoughts she might have had.

“Me too,” she barely managed.

He kissed her hard, sliding his hand further up her chest where his fingertips grazed over the swell of her breast. Her eyes rolled back in her skull, her skin ablaze, thoughts a mess, and she could only breathe out a weak hum of approval as his fingers slid underneath her bra. A whimper tore from her lips, and she instinctively pushed herself up against his hand, tired of pretending she didn’t want more.

“More,” she choked, and his lips slowly curved against hers.

How could she have been stupid enough to ever have suggested such a thing as parameters with all of eternity ahead of them? They were never going to get off this rock; in what world had celibacy ever turned out to be a good idea?

Wasting no time, he pulled her sweater over her head, unclasped her bra and dropped both items to the ground before frantically starting on her pants.

She vehemently matched him in speed and fluidity, tugging off his shirt, unbuckling his belt, divesting him of his clothes every bit as fast as he had been stripping the layers off of her body.

For a moment his assertiveness took her by surprise; on Voyager he’d rarely ever shown such abrasiveness. He’d seldom, if ever, disobeyed orders and had always made himself out to be the obedient type. Imparting, on her, impressions of a man who would stand behind her every choice without many questions in any given situation, which in turn, had made her wonder how someone so attuned to following orders had ever become a rebel leader of a band of glorified misfits in the first place.

She was starting to understand.

While fevered kisses on flushed skin continued to weaken her limbs, now naked, gravity relentlessly pulled them down, and as they tumbled to the ground he quickly rolled himself on top of her, pining her hands above her head before she had the chance to compete with his calculated intentions; he swiftly reached between them and then watched her gasp and buck beneath him as two fingers slid between slick folds. He smiled, a greedy smile.

She inhaled sharply, her head lulling to the side. _Oh,_ _he was good_ , and as her mind continued to beg for more, she berated herself for wasting an entire week to even get to this point. His fingers found a steady rhythm, sliding in and out. Her thoughts fused together and fizzled out as his vigorous administrations unearthed sensations she hadn’t felt in years. 

His lips claimed hers on a moan, sucking and licking more purposefully now. She arched her back in response, pressing her breasts closer to his chest while a desire for release started to build where his fingers briefly grazed against a particularly sensitive part.

“Higher,” she whispered against his lips, balancing on the edge of sanity. He ignored her pleas, continuing at an agonizingly slow pace, and she realized this was exactly where he wanted her. Aroused and begging, writhing beneath him, exerting control over when and how she was to shatter under his touch, if at all.

She pulled back slowly and looked him in the eye, his lids drooping heavily, noticeably drunk on the same wave of lust as she, his control visibly slipping. She bit hard on her lower lip, and pressed herself further into him, felt his length pulse and twist alongside her inner thigh. He groaned, his pace turning sloppy, his fingers slipping in and out of her at irregular intervals, pushing for or drawing out her release for as long as both could stand.

It was more than she could bear; the swiftness of their actions, moving much too fast for her mind to completely comprehend. She needed more control. Now.

She hooked one leg behind his, and twisted. His eyes widened in surprise when in one shift motion she turned the tables on him. As his back hit the ground with a thud his hands automatically slipped out of her to land on her hips, minimizing impact velocity. She wasted no time. 

“What the–” he cried out, but his words turned into a single drawn out moan as she moved over and down onto him, giving him no time to adjust to the reversed situation. Pushing down he slipped further inside of her, and with effort she swallowed a moan of her own as her walls first tightened and then relaxed around him fully. She bit her lip, determined to hold on for as long as possible, arching her back, head dropping back, visibly fighting for control. This felt far too good, and it had been far, far too long. If he started moving under her now she was sure it wouldn’t take much for him to gain the upper hand again. 

His eyes rolled shut, adjusting to the sudden feel of her around him; surely he hadn’t counted on them moving this fast either, but after a few moments he nodded on a smirk, and opened his eyes.

“Uncalled for,” his voice cracked, a twinkle in his eyes. “Just couldn’t wait your turn, eh?” he shook his head in mock disapproval.

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” she grinned. 

He chuckled.

“Is that a challenge?”

“I haven’t the­–” she began, but before she could finish the sentence, his hands on her hips forced her down harder, shooting renewed sensations up her spine. He slid deeper, and she lost her balance, dropping forward. She braced one hand on the ground next to his head and let out a surprised gasp.

“Two can play at this, Kathryn,” he huskily whispered in her ear.

With effort she pushed herself up, locked eyes with the man who had gained back the upper hand much faster than she thought he would. But before she could gather her wits, prepare a counter attack or retaliate, one of his hands whispered past her spine, and came down hard on her lower back. Quite possessively he started to move inside of her, drawing out and slamming back into her with determined deliberation, quite effectively obliterating any and all thoughts she might have had of retaliation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I seriously enjoyed writing the start of this chapter from Harry's point of view, he's so damn cute. And man B'Elanna is such an amazing character to write for as well! I seriously am enjoying all of these characters so much! The diversity is AMAZING. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this as much as I've enjoyed reading your thoughts on the previous chapter. It's so incredibly appreciated! <3 This fandom is awesome.


	3. Expanding Parameters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this is late, it's longer. Enjoy!

**_Present Day: Voyager_ **

“Commander!”

All eyes turned to the rigid form of captain Janeway storming off the turbolift on a horse as high as Troy’s. Blurring across the bridge in the direction of the two centre chairs, she past the other bridge officers without so much as a word or glance, before barking:

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”

Oh, this ought to be good, Tom mused. 

He let out a low whistle, half turning in his seat, as he good humouredly chanced a glance in their direction. This had to be some sort of joke, right? 

“Not another word, mister Paris,” Janeway whirled on him. “Or I’ll have you join lieutenant Vorik on deck three, scrubbing plasma conduits for the rest of the afternoon. He sure as hell could use the company.”

A stunned silence shot across the bridge, multiple eyebrows rose, eyes widened as tensions tripled.

“Aye, captain,” Tom said, snapping back into motion, sensibly swallowing back the snarky reply that danced on his tongue the moment the captain’s expression registered fully.

Fury.

There was no other word for it. War shone in her depths, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to be a victim of that specific type of wrath. No, sir. Whatever the commander had done, it must have been affrontingly horrendous for the captain to disregard any of the proper boundaries provided by command. For as far back as Tom could remember, she’d never turned on an officer quite like this before, not in front of the entire bridge crew, and certainly not the commander himself.

The commander looked rather taken aback by the sudden peaceful interruption of his PADD perusal. Whatever the case may be, Tom could tell Chakotay had not thought the situation warranted a calling out on this scale. 

“Maybe we should continue this somewhere private,” he calmly stated, placing the PADD on the console in between the two command chairs.

“The hell are you doing confining my chief engineer to quarters?” she boomed.

Tom’s eyes widened.

He’d done what now?

Chakotay sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I see we’re really going to do this here,” he rose, hovering slightly above her at an intimidating proximity, disregarding any sort of personal space or respect thereof.

To his surprise the captain appeared somewhat fazed, and Tom scrutinized her fumbling. The fingers at her side clenching and unclenching into fists over and over.

Curious.

Maybe he shouldn’t have disregarded Neelix’s far fetched theories and overactive imagination as quickly as he’d done. Maybe there really was something to it after all.

“Ready room,” the captain finally acquiesced.

Tom’s eyes followed them in the direction of the captain’s personal workroom, everyone’s focus on their retreating forms. As soon as the doors had steadily opened and closed behind them, Tom chanced a glance in the direction of Voyager’s chief security officer at tactical. Their eyes met and held for a couple of seconds, but the Vulcan merely coaxed an eyebrow before stoically turning his attention back to his workstation.

_=/\=_

She turned on him the second the doors to her ready room had closed shut, her expression a flurry of frustration and doubt all at once. He’d never quite known her to give into rage and pressure that easily. It surprised him, as it had surprised the rest of the bridge crew. Calling him out like that in front of everybody, damned embarrassing. So much for professionalism then.

“Well?” she thundered. 

He apathetically brushed past her and lowered himself onto her couch with a sigh, putting enough space between them to gather his wits before tackling the truth. How the hell could he broach this topic without crossing any of those damned parameters? The woman had rules and regulations coming out of every orifice nowadays. No matter which way he turned, there was always too much of him or too much of her spilling out over the rims and onto the ship.

On the other hand, why shouldn’t he watch the whole goddamn thing crash and burn to the ground? What did he have to lose? It hadn’t been his words, anyway.

“If you must know,” he began, doing his best to keep the anger from his voice. “B’Elanna suggested, rather observantly, that the captain should resume pleasing her first officer,” he paused and swallowed. “As she assumes, and I presume the rest of the crew along with her, that ending that endeavour is what has gotten her commanding officer so tightly wound up lately.”

He watched the colour drain from her face as the paraphrased words revealed, what he could only assume, were his captain’s worst fears. He inwardly snorted. In some ways seeing her in this state gave him a wicked sense of fulfilment, the only type of power he still wielded, and could expose whenever he felt especially wrathful. How tragic. How disastrously fast it had all turned to shit. And how very bitter he’d become. 

She remained rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on a point beyond his shoulders out the viewport.

“Would you have preferred I’d informed her she was onto something?” he asked, more of a rhetorical rather than an actual question.

She slowly turned to him; the heat rising in her face

“Leave!”

He snorted, shook his head, and rose.

It did affect him. Much more than he led on. When they’d first returned to Voyager he had hoped that all she needed to come around was time. But the more time he had given her, the more she’d withdrawn. The guarded person that was now ordering him to leave, was not the person he had come to know in months prior. Her defences had become impenetrable, the ice in her eyes and features had grown thicker and colder. What’s more, they hadn’t even truly exchanged one word outside of the captain/commander structures of command since they’d gotten back, and it had been well over a month now.

He briefly halted in front of her, hesitation on his lips, before he questioned:

“What happened to us, Kathryn?”

Her eye briefly twitched at the sound of her name, but it hardly made a dent in her armour.

“Leave,” she reiterated coldly.

He sighed, clenched his teeth, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“I’d hoped that at the very least we could have remained friends,” he tried once more. 

She continued to stare him down with the same icy glare that ultimately propelled him forward. Once more, overcome by rejection he dragged himself back to the surface, and away from her.

The doors slid open, and on a disappointed exhalation he stepped out onto the bridge. 

=/\=

**_New Earth: One week prior to Voyager’s return_ **

“Ice cream.”

“Really?”

“I never quite liked the replicator variant.”

“You ever try–”

“Giovanni’s ice cream on the corner of 64 &117th?” she cut in. “Oh, yes.”

He smirked, circling a lazy finger around her nipple in response. Satisfaction rippled through him as he watched the bud promptly tighten where his touch didn’t quite graze the tip. 

“The best ice cream in all of Little Italy,” he whispered hot in her ear.

She chuckled, and pulled his hand away from her breast, twining her fingers with his instead.

“This is nice,” she said, her voice husky.

He nodded against the side of her head, hypnotized by the flames as they danced across their skin.

They’d settled under the tree next to the campfire hours ago. Still clothed then, they’d taken their sweet time emptying a bottle of Saurian brandy while contemplating the setting of the sun in silence.

All the while, he’d studied her with suspicious curiosity over the rim of his glass. She seemed more relaxed, more so than she’d been on any other day since they’d arrived. Her hair completely down, no knots or ties binding her locks together, and her expression appeared void of worries, void of wrinkles, except for the lines that formed around her eyes whenever she smiled. She smiled a lot.

When the sun had completely set and they’d been adequately inebriated, he’d finally reached for her, unwilling to resist the pull any longer than was necessary, especially now that the responsibilities of the day had vanished with the sun behind the horizon. 

She eagerly melted into him, clumsily pulling at his sweater the instant his lips claimed hers.

Their lovemaking had been surprisingly tender, much gentler and more deliberate than any of the lust filled highs they’d ridden over the past week, and he sensed she noticed the change as well. 

As soon as the last spasms of her orgasm had faded, he’d tipped over the edge with a force that had him collapsing on top of her. Spasm after spasm ripped through him. Surprised at the intensity of the waves, he struggled to keep his arms from giving out. She took it in stride, hugged him close, panting and gasping heavily, sweat mingling, rubbing against slick skin. He pressed a possessive kiss to her lips, drawing a muffled whimper from her throat, not quite ready to withdraw, yet.

When their breathing had finally leveled out, he’d rolled off of her, brushed a kiss to her forehead, before situating himself behind her. Leaning heavily against the tree for support, she’d settled against his chest willingly and wrapped his arms around her midriff in silent contentment. They’d said nothing for a while, only stared at the flames and the oddly shaped fireflies that had now grown accustomed to the dancing of the firelight. 

He didn’t quite know when or who broke the silence, but when words began to flow, they had quickly turned playful, and for the first time since he’d come to know her, she truly opened up.

“It _is_ nice,” he echoed her earlier statement. 

She dropped a kiss to his neck and spun around in his embrace, her hands and chin resting on his bare chest, her eyes impishly playful.

“What about you?”

“Leola root stew,” he retorted. 

She scrunched up her nose.

“I hope you’re joking.”

“Oh, no,” he said, playing with a strand of hair that had fallen across her face. 

“I actually quite like it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Why? It tastes of dirt and mildew on a good day.”

He laughed.

“Well, where would we be without it?” he responded, matter-of-factly.

She pensively turned her head, resting her cheek on her hands while he continued to brush his fingers through her hair. They wouldn’t be in the Delta Quadrant, that’s where. The thought saddened him, and he felt the air around them grow thick, suspecting she realized the same. He half regretted veering the conversation in such a dark direction.

“I would have thrown you in the brig,” she said after a minute or so. “Handed you over to Starfleet.”

He nodded in the dark.

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t have given it a second thought,” she admitted.

“You trying to make me feel better?” he countered.

“I’d be married by now,” she continued.

He halted his administrations as the candour with which she’d revealed the obvious, hit him where it hurt the most. Even if that were true, he wouldn’t have known better, nor, would he have liked or cared for her. Handing him over to Starfleet, marrying her fiancée, it wouldn’t have meant anything to her, all in a day’s job, and he doubted he would have been aware of the latter. She’d have only played a minor role in his life, and he wouldn’t have given it a second moment’s thought either. It wouldn’t have mattered.

He lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him.

Things hadn’t exactly played out that way. 

“I’m in love with you,” he bluntly stated.

Her eyes widened and he watched how they instantly clouded over. Doubt. Panic. Conflict sprung from their depths. 

“I–I,” she stuttered, sliding from his lap to sit up straighter.

He rose with her, pressing a finger to her lips before she could say anything he wasn’t ready to hear, nor she ready to say. 

“I know,” he assured. “I know. You haven’t figured it out, yet,” he shook his head. “It’s alright.”

He pulled her to him, resting his forehead to hers, and to his relieve she relaxed into him.

“I just needed you to know,” he whispered. “I needed you to hear.”

=/\=

_**Present day: Voyager** _

“Come.”

“What the–” Chakotay cried, as he nearly tripped over a broken piece of what looked like part of a chair, entering B’Elanna’s quarters.

Tiptoeing away from the threshold, he noted how beyond his immediate vicinity, most of the furniture lay on its side, had been thrown across or hurled through the room in what he surmised had been done with wrathful scorn. Personal items, photos, and trinkets lay shattered across the floor, some broken, others merely scratched, not wholly irreparable. _Jesus, B,_ he thought. What the hell had gotten into her? He hadn’t seen her lose her temper like this in a long time.

“Come to gloat?” she said.

He turned and caught sight of a forlorn figure on the far end corner of the couch, legs pulled into her chest, shrouded in darkness. 

“Computer brightness at 90%,” he ordered.

B’Elanna blinked rapidly as the sudden sharp light shot across her retinas, scorching her eyes. God knows how long she’d been seated in the half dark, sulking, contemplating her bad tempered choices.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he started off lightly.

“Fuck off, Chakotay.”

Okay, then.

Too soon. 

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” 

He stepped closer and carefully - although he didn’t quite know why he was even still trying at this point - pushed the bent out of shape Bat’leth from the shredded armchair onto the floor, taking a seat on the battered cushions. He studied her for a moment, noting how incredibly beat she looked. She avoided his eyes, but even a blind man could tell that she probably felt similar to what her quarters looked like.

“I figured we should talk,” he broke the tension. After all, that’s why he’d come.

She turned to him, waiting, but refrained from saying anything.

Very well, he would bite the bullet then.

“I regret what happened in the mess hall yesterday, but you really left me no choice, B,” he began. “I’d’ve done the same to Harry in your place.” 

She continued to stare, pulling her legs tighter to her chest in response.

“You defied and insulted me in front of the crew without provocation,” he stated, conveying it as a stone cold fact, but rubbing a hand over his face in demonstrative defeat nonetheless, “Even so,” his voice cracked. “even if it had been provoked, you should have known better! Hell, I know, you know better!”

She snorted.

“What’s gotten into you?” 

Her eyes flashed with anger.

“What’s gotten into me?!” she boomed. “What’s gotten into _you_? Or the captain for that matter! You two have been hell to tolerate, lately. I’ve been bending myself over backwards, working double shifts, while there’s exactly zero to do, Chakotay. But for some reason, which I’ve yet to figure out, I find myself torn from bed at odd hours, send to do the most trivial of things. And I do them,” she bit out, the bitterness rising in her eyes.

“Because you know what happens if I don’t?”

She paused, searching his eyes for answers he clearly didn’t have.

“No? I’ll tell you what happens. She’ll have her first officer breathe down my neck come morning.” B’Elanna rose from the couch, and started pacing up and down the floor. Words that had been lodged inside her head for the past couple of weeks now flowing freely.

“Nothing is ever good enough, anymore,” she rattled on. “Which is odd, since engineering has been running at peak efficiency for the better part of two weeks, and on top of that, the damn plasma conduits have never been cleaner. Hell,” she threw her hands up in mock astonishment. “I doubt they were as clean the day this ship departed from Deep Space 9 _two years ago_!” her pacing continued.

“But for some reason,” she halted, “For some reason the two of you are blind to your own damaging behaviour. Do you even see it?” she whirled on him, “Are you aware of the power struggle? How you two have been systematically deciding which crew member - Starfleet or Maquis - has been slacking off the most on a given day?!” she hovered over him now, pointing an accusatory finger to his chest, before dropping to the couch, defeated.

He stared, mentally fumbling for words, while all his mind could really come up with was: _is that so?_ But then, in his heart he knew she was right, he felt the truth of it drop heavily into his stomach.

“I’m exhausted,” she continued. “And don’t get me wrong,” the anger visibly draining out of her now. “I can take a tough love approach; I was brought up on nothing but tough love. But this, this isn’t just tough anymore, you know? Both of you are pushing the entire crew to its limits, and you’re not even aware of it, are you?”

He frowned.

B’Elanna could be horridly frank if she wanted to be, observant as hell, but no less tactless with words. But she wasn’t wrong. It was true. He hadn’t seen it, had only been mildly aware of his less than exemplary behaviour, and he hadn’t considered it from the crew’s point of view at all, hadn’t wondered if it had any effect on them whatsoever. It was wrong. It was worrisome. 

“What you’re really saying is that neither I nor the captain are currently fit for duty,” he finally stated, buying himself a couple of seconds as she mulled over his suggestion.

“Well,” she conceded. “What if I am?”

“I’d say you might be onto something.”

Her jaw dropped open, and he couldn’t help but smile a little at the blatant show of astonishment. It surprised him too. But then again, if what B’Elanna had just revealed about the crew’s collective state of mind was indeed true, then both the captain and her commander had been compromised in a manner that was now bleeding straight into the foundation of what had made their crews work so well in the first place. If, the arguably most pig headed woman on this ship was now buckling under the pressures of her commanding officer’s orders, then maybe, yes, they really should be taking a good hard look at themselves.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that the captain and I aren’t functioning at peak efficiency at the moment.”

As the meaning of the words dawned onto her, the soft silence that followed quietly sucked away all of the remaining anger still attached to her features.

She looked away, her fingers contemplatively started to pull at a place where a hole had emerged through the fabric of her couch. She really had done quite the number on her quarters. It was going to take months to replace everything. 

“It’s because we dragged you off that damned rock, isn’t it?” she asked, more of a statement than an actual question. She probably suspected, knew more than she’d led on, and even if she didn’t, it wouldn’t have been such a leap. 

He nodded.

“She break it off, or you did?”

He scowled and shifted uncomfortably.

“I guess, she, then,” B’Elanna answered.

“I didn’t think it was _that_ obvious.”

“People talk,” she admitted and shrugged. “Although, I didn’t believe any of it until you relieved me off duty and confined me to quarters,” she snorted. “Didn’t think there was any truth to my off hand comment, it honestly was a negligible after thought at best.”

“Negligible?” he shot back.

“I was angry!”

“I’d hardly call a remark about oral sex negligible,” his voice rose again. “No matter what state you find yourself in!”

She rolled her eyes.

“I never said your reaction wasn’t warranted,” she countered. “I’m only saying that it made it crystal clear.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Okay,” she began. “The Chakotay I know, would have gotten angry, yes. But, the Chakotay I saw, bled shame first. Frankly, for as long as I’ve known you shame has never been part of the package, not for you, and certainly not when it comes to matters of the heart,” she paused. “Or your dick,” she added. He gave her a sharp look, and she quickly amended: “that last bit was off the record.”

“Point taken.” 

He caught her eyes, the anger completely gone now that she’d spoken her fill.

“So,” she said. “What happens now?”

He reached behind him, pulling a PADD into sight from seemingly nowhere, and handed it to her.

“You’ve been reinstated effective immediately.”

She gawked.

“You could have led with that!”

“Now where would have been the fun in that?” he smirked. 

“Asshole.”

“Careful,” he narrowed his eyes at her. “I’ve just been informed by my chief engineer, of all people, that I’m not in my right mind at the moment. Don’t tempt me into revoking your holodeck privileges.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Watch me,” he warned, and got up to leave.

“Chakotay,” she called back.

“Hmm?” he half turned.

“You shouldn’t allow her to order you around like this,” B’Elanna said seriously. “It’s damn near impossible to put the genie back in the bottle once it’s been released,” she continued. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

She snorted and resumed pulling at the foam that made up her couch.

“I was just a stupid teenager, but that’s not the point,” bits of foam sprung from her fingers, and he found it somewhat amusing that even with her anger in check, she still felt the urge to destroy whatever she got her hands on. Ironic, too.

“You need to make her understand that the only way forward isn’t backwards. There’s no coming back from this,” she wisely stated. “If that makes any sense,” she finished, casually flinging more foam across the room.

“It does.”

“Good,” she beamed. “Because I swear to God, Chakotay. If she drags me out of bed in the middle of the night one more time, I’ll personally drop you off at her quarters myself.”

He laughed, an actual genuine laugh, as he imagined a furious B’Elanna dragging him across decks crammed with onlookers in the middle of the night. 

“Noted,” he nodded. “Oh, and B?”

“Yeah?” she looked up.

“Stop destroying that couch,” he said, “That’s an order.”

“Oh, shut up,” she threw back, almost affectionately.

He smiled.

“Briefing at 0800,” he called over his shoulder.


	4. Reestablishing Parameters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a little ill last week, soooo sorry for this being late once again. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! 
> 
> I feel a little disclaimer is in order for this chapter. In the first part of this chapter there's a bit that borders on non-consensual sex. Anyone who is sensitive to this sort of content would be well advised to skip the first part of the chapter and move onto the second part.

**_New Earth: 30 hours prior to Voyager’s return_ **

“This is Tuvok calling Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay. Please respond.”

Confusion hit him first, like a splash of cold water lashing every single nerve ending into motion.

She reached for the combadge, turned trinket on top of the dusty closet. No longer. Faithfully fulfilling its single most important purpose once more as Kathryn opened a channel. 

“This is Janeway,”

“Captain, it’s good to hear your voice,” Tuvok’s heavy vocals bounced off the walls. “We have news.”

“What is it?”

“We have medicine which we believe will effectively treat your condition. We plan to be in orbit within thirty hours.”

The connection broke off abruptly. Short and to the point. True to his Vulcan nature. Tuvok never relayed anything more than was strictly necessary.

Kathryn turned to Chakotay, astonishment written all across her features as she still appeared to be processing what had just transpired.

Voyager was coming for them; they had found a cure; they’d be back with their people in no less than thirty hours, and he was relieved. Of course, he was, but then…

“This is good,” she forced a smile, dully reaching for the cloth on the table, meticulously wiping her hands clean while contemplatively staring ahead.

He nodded.

But then why didn’t it feel better?

She slowly lowered herself into a chair, his mind blank but for one word: _surreal_. They’d spent the past couple of days in blissful tranquillity, gardening and building, turning this house into a home, the woods into their sanctuary, when out of nowhere familiar voices suddenly yanked them from their peaceful present and maliciously forced them back into an uncertain future filled with “what ifs”. He was shattered. He _was_ grateful. Happy. Furious. 

“We’ll need to start packing,” she said, her voice hollow. Her shoulders slumped, and her stance defeated.

A cold fear gripped his heart. This wasn’t right. She didn’t sound right. 

“Kathryn,” he placed a hand on her shoulder, but she reflexively flinched away from his touch. 

A crack.

Not a chance. 

He knelt down in front of her.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes darted to the side, blinking rapidly.

“Look at me!” he demanded more forcibly, his hands coming up to her face.

“Don’t,” she snapped.

He pulled away.

And it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise. He’d always known that Kathryn Janeway was capable of pulling a one-eighty in the blink of an eye. Even so, it still hurt. He shook his head, and inched backward on one knee. What could he say? What could he do? How could she expect him to just stop? To switch it off and never mention it again? He wasn’t made like that. 

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded, helplessly watching her avert her eyes, hiding the tears that were threatening to spill. She squeezed her lids shut in an effort to reel them back in, but it proved futile, the drops freely falling to her cheeks. 

“Damnit,” he cursed.

To hell with it all.

He pulled her up into his chest, hugging her, refusing to let go even when she struggled and pushed against him.

“Let me go!” she demanded, her body shaking, wrecked with sobs. 

“Stop it,” he ordered, swallowing down the lump that had formed in his throat. “Please, Kathryn, stop.”

She continued to trash against him, but he refused to yield, determined to hold onto her frame for as long as possible while his body strained against the beating of her clenched fists, every blow more painful than the next, her frame violently kicking and twisting for release. Under different circumstances he’d have welcomed her fire, would have hailed her anger, encouraged her wrath. But not now, not in this way. She was fighting against him. Not with him. Not for him.

And he didn’t understand, couldn’t grasp why every fiber in his being knew that they could make this work, knew that they would still be able to function like an unbreakable unit once back on Voyager, with lives no longer dictated to them by Starfleet regulations. They could, he knew they could. Why couldn’t she?

He held her tightly, buried his nose in her crown and pressed his lips to her head, feeling his own resolves fracture under the stress of her struggle.

Enough.

He grabbed both her arms with one hand, and forced her to look up at him.

What stared back at him was eerie; her captain’s mask had almost entirely slipped over her face back into place again. She darkly looked up at him; her eyes red, sorely swollen. Almost all of Captain Janeway staring back at him. He cursed her for it. Hated her unwillingness to even try.

They silently regarded each other, a few stray hairs stuck to salty streaks of dried tears. Despite it all, he marvelled at the rapidity with which she’d managed to rein her emotions back in, force them to retreat behind empty soulless eyes, after weeks of freedom. It made his blood boil, his mind scream, and in an act of retaliation he harshly pushed her into the wall behind them, crushed his lips to hers on a gasp, her back painfully crashing into the panels. She fought him, like she had fought his embrace. But when she felt him twist against her inner thigh, she relented.

He tore at her dress, the blue material splitting at the seams, rupturing all the way down to her bellybutton. She tore at his shirt too, the sound of ripping fabric the only thing he could concentrate on until one of her hands boldly reached inside his pants and closed around his growing length. He let out a throaty moan, his fingers coming up to squeeze her breast through her bra. She cried out against his lips. They had never been this rough with each other before, had never been this furious enough.

She crudely pulled him out, pumped him hard, firmly jerking his foreskin back and forth over his cock in a manner that was bound to make him sore for days. He gritted his teeth, his head dipping to her neck where he sucked her skin into his mouth, drawing blood with his teeth, permanently marking her, or at least until she could get her hands on a dermal regenerator.

She cursed out his name the moment his teeth sunk into her neck, and while sharp nails disappeared underneath what was left of his shirt, he made a mental note to destroy each and every dermal regenerator he could get his hands on the moment they got back to Voyager. Let her pay for one with her precious replicator rations, let her live with scars for as long as he’d be forced to live with his.

Her nails drew a trail down his back, breaking skin and drawing blood in kind. And though he’d expected it, he still cried out loudly, slammed her frame into the wall with renewed vigour. She lost her grip on impact. He grinned against her tattered skin, and with one hand swiftly ripped her panties to shreds and thrust his cock inside of her.

She gasped in surprise, choked on a whimper as he slammed in and out of her, not waiting for permission, selfishly claiming pleasure as his right

“No,” she wept, unprepared for an intrusion on this scale; wrought to claim her violently, in jest, and with scorn, and would most likely brand her for life before expending her like waste on an afterthought the instant he was done. She feebly struggled against him, pain and fear splicing through her as he rammed into her cervix over and over.

“Chakotay, stop,” she choked. “Please,” her body quivered and her head fell to his shoulders, the fight completely draining out of her as fresh sobs quaked through her.

“Not like this,” she whispered, small, fragile. 

Shame flooded his senses as soon as the sound of her voice registered. _Jesus._ Wincing he pulled out of her, realization wrapping itself around his throat, sucking the breath from his lungs

He hadn’t meant it. He had been caught up in anger, riding the wave, utterly blinded by a feverish rage that coursed through his veins like a virus, out of control in a way he hadn’t been since he was a young and foolish man, looking for meaningless fights on dark street corners. 

“Fuck!” he cried, driving his fist into the wall next to her head.

She flinched.

Tangled with sorrow, he slid to the floor, dragging her with him like a ragdoll.

He gathered her in his arms, choking out words of comfort and regret, rocking her back and forth in his arms; the first waves of guilt crashing over him. “I’ve got you,” he assured. “I’ve got you.” 

She wept silently, holding onto him with as much strength as she could muster, and he was grateful. Grateful she let him. Broken, but still willing.

“I’m sorry,” she choked. “I’m so sorry.”

=/\=

**_Voyager: Present day_ **

She pinched the bridge of her nose, a headache forming behind her eyes, growing more demanding the longer she tried to ignore it. She squeezed her eyes shut, mentally distracted with only half a mind left to resist the urge to get up and order another cup of coffee.

Spending tedious hours in her ready room wasn’t exactly stimulating to the brain, but even mind numbing efficiency reports had to be read, and also, who was she kidding? She leapt at every chance that allotted her to drink more coffee than was technically necessary, or good for her.

The doorbell chimed. 

“Come,” she absentmindedly spoke, examining a particularly challenging section of numbers and calculations that revealed the current status of the plasma injectors. _Invigorating stuff_ , her thoughts supplied. 

The doors swished open and her chief of security stepped inside.

“Captain,” Tuvok inclined his head, coming to a halt in front of her desk, arms at his side.

“Mister Tuvok,” she reciprocated. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He raised an eyebrow, and wasting no time he ever so uncharacteristically sat down in the vacant chair in front of her desk, installed more for decorative purposes if anything.

“This must be bad,” she teased.

For as long as she’d known the man he’d hardly ever sat down before revealing his intentions.

“Bad is merely a matter of subjectivity,” the Vulcan replied, logically. “But I do wish to broach a subject that might, in more human terms, be considered ‘sensitive’”,” he finished.

“Go on.”

“I’ve come to express a concern.”

“Concern?” she narrowed her eyes. “Regarding?”

“I believe that certain officers on this ship might have been seriously compromised,” he wasted no time.

A knot formed in her stomach. The last time they’d had a conversation like this it had led to Jonas burning up in a plasma fire in engineering, no thanks to mister Neelix.

“Please don’t tell me we’ve got another Judas on board,” or Judases; he _had_ used the plural. 

Tuvok frowned.

“No,” he simply stated, surprisingly familiar with Earth’s biblical metaphors. “I do not believe so.”

“Then what are we talking about?”

“We are talking about officers whose actions are starting to border on the radical,” he spoke seriously. “Tactical and unprofessional choices have recently been made, and executed impulsively. While performing their duties they have exhibited erratic, uncalculated and irritable behaviour, and certain crewmembers have since disclosed that they themselves have been treated with downright hostility, as well as those who serve directly under them. All of which has led to an outpouring of complaints that I can no longer ignore.” 

“This sounds very serious,” she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Indeed,” the Vulcan agreed.

“One question,” she leaned forward. “Why am I hearing about this from _you_ and not my first officer?”

They both knew very well that Tuvok was not responsible for crew complaints. If it had been a matter of security then his observations and voicing thereof would not have filled her with as much trepidation, but this was something Chakotay should be on top of.

Unless…

She studied his face. Tuvok remained stoic, patiently waiting for the pieces to fall into place.

“This is about Commander Chakotay.”

He inclined his head, waiting.

“And me,” she finished.

Another nod. 

She bit her lower lip, nodding defensively. Erratic? Unprofessional? Those weren’t words she'd normally ascribe to. 

“And you agree?” she bit out, strained anger bubbling to the surface. 

He considered the question carefully, estimating what words best befitted his own objective thoughts.

“I can only attest to what I have witnessed myself,” he chose to say.

“And what have you witnessed, Tuvok?” she challenged.

“A friend in pain,” he replied.

She swallowed hard, not quite prepared for the jolt of sorrow that shot through her at his honest admission. It wasn’t poignant, not laced with command verdicts and comprehensive accusations. It was just Tuvok, piercing through her armour with sound logic and kind understanding.

“What do you suggest I do about these complaints?” she inquired, a friend asking another friend for advice.

He stood, and handed her the PADD he’d been holding.

“Commander Chakotay has just informed me that he wishes to be relieved of duty effective immediately.”

“He what?!”

She took the PADD, critically scrutinizing the request. 

“He kindly asked me to notify you of this matter, and while regulations dictate otherwise, I could not help but be sympathetic to his situation. I agreed to notify you myself instead,” Tuvok clasped his hands behind him, straightening his back. “In all of my years as your friend and colleague, I’ve come to think of you as a strong and capable officer, a fine captain and a dependable friend. It has only been on rare occasions that I have observed you so overcome with emotion that it infringed upon your abilities to carry out your command duties effectively,” he inhaled pensively. “It grieves me to admit, but I do believe that this situation falls into that category.”

She slowly rose and stepped around the desk, facing Tuvok with a type of apprehension she’d only ever felt once before. She’d been a young captain on the _USS Bonestell_ , and he’d been quite ruthless with her, criticizing her lack of attention to tactical and security matters, dressing her down as if she was nothing more than a juvenile cadet, had skinned her with the most rational words and soundest logic she’d ever heard put together in a sentence.

“You believe I should step down,” more of a statement than a question.

“Only until such time you have come to terms with the emotions that are responsible for your current lack of focus and impaired judgement.”

She looked away.

“These are some heavy accusations, Tuvok,” she said. “What if I disagree?”

He coaxed an eyebrow.

“Based on current events, logic would seem to dictate that it will only be a matter of time before the crew will break under the strain of what could be considered an inconsistent pattern of command decisions and orders. They will see fit to retaliate. Subsequently, a change in authority would call for the most logical progression of events, the consequences of which could potentially turn out to be much more severe than if you were to act now. Provided, of course, that circumstances from here on out will change.”

“So let me get this straight,” she said as she leaned against the edge of her desk. “What you’re actually presuming here,” she motioned. “And keep in mind that this entire situation is incredibly circumstantial. Honestly, I’m a little surprised that you’re alerting me to such a chance scenario, it’s highly uncharacteristic of a Vulcan. But assumptions aside, according to your estimations, I’d be taking a tremendous risk. If, I were to ignore your advice” she paused and shifted through her thoughts for a moment. “And on top of that, I might also lose my ship, if I don’t change my _erratic_ behaviour, as you so callously put it. All of this is assuming, of course, that everything you’ve just told me isn’t just some sign that the crew is in dire need of long overdue shore leave and are now lashing out at their commanding officers.” 

“It is possible,” he agreed. “Had I not already investigated that line of reasoning.”

“You have,” she snapped, bitterly. Of course, he had.

He retrieved the PADD from her desk, pressing a few buttons before handing it back to her.

“Mister Hogan received a formal reprimand for forgetting to wear his pips on duty for the first time in two years. Lieutenant Carey received a two-day suspension after he was caught biting his nails in the corridors on deck seven. Lieutenant Vorik was pulled out of engineering to scrub all of the plasma conduits on deck three, after he’d accidentally blew out a gel-pack on the same deck. Do I need to continue, Captain?”

She said nothing.

At the time she thought her punishments had seemed rational, fitting the rage that motivated her to lash out at them in the first place. But hearing it all out loud now, “crimes” set against punishments. It didn’t sound right. 

“This is all very one-sided,” she argued half heartily, somewhat testy.

“That is why I have come,” Tuvok said.

She started pacing back and forth between her desk and the viewport couch, torn between duty and reason. She’d been trying to push it down so hard, hide it with all of her might, but it hadn’t mattered. Tuvok was right. She’d been irritable, snappy and mean. Allowing her agitations to determine punishments for behaviour that should not even have been remarked upon. She’d been withdrawn too, hardly ever spent any of her time in the mess hall, avoiding Neelix and his chipper outburst like the plague. Nor did she ever dwell beyond the confines of the bridge, her ready room, anymore. On top of that, the thought of visiting the holodeck and Sandrine’s only filled her with anguish. What was the point?

She sighed, stopped pacing.

“I cannot deny that in hindsight, these punishments don’t seem to fit the crime. I admit, I have not been feeling like myself lately,” she finally confessed.

“You are conflicted,” Tuvok supplied.

She nodded.

“Over your feelings for Commander Chakotay,” he finished the thought.

Her eyes shot back to his. _Did everyone know?!_

“I must remind you that I have seen you in a similar state before,” he seemed to read her mind. “It is the most straightforward conclusion. Before we came back for you, you spend a significant amount of time alone with the commander on an uninhabited planet. It is only natural that you would have formed some type of a roma–”

“Stop,” she held up her hand, slicing him with silence. “Yes,” she swallowed. “It is true that the commander and I grew closer. Maybe, closer than either of us intended,” had they, though? There’d always been something between them, whether she liked to admit it or not. Even before New Earth, they’d always stood a little too close, stared a little too long, flirted a little bit too much.

“But it wouldn’t be proper,” she emphasised. “And there is nothing to it now. It’s done,” she said, the hole in heart contracting painfully.

“Yet,” Tuvok challenged. “You are conflicted,” he repeated. “Your logic appears to be flawed, captain. You do not desire for it to be done.”

Her eyebrows shot up. Of all people she never thought it would be Tuvok she’d ever have a conversation with about the intricacies, and incredibly irrational workings of human emotions.

“I do not claim to understand the interior workings of the human psyche. To this day it puzzles me how beings as emotionally driven as yourselves can make any rational decisions that border on logical. But you can, and you have proved me wrong in that regard many times yourself. However, experience has also taught me that humans are not well adapt at suppressing their emotions like Vulcans. If one does attempt it, the consequences are usually disastrous. I have been witness to it many times. Your psyche demands that you confront your pain, and make peace with any inner struggles you might have. You cannot function properly otherwise,” he paused for a moment and fully turned to her. “In this case, you are not allowing yourself to process the loss of your relationship with commander Chakotay. You are lashing out, you are behaving irrationally, and until such time you have dealt with these emotions, it is my duty as your chief of security to be frank with you and express my concerns. Your emotions have become a safety hazard, captain. They’ve effectively rendered you unfit for duty.”

She swallowed hard. He’d spoken frankly, had pushed more words into one breath than she’d ever heard him say before, and even though “worry” wasn’t part of his Vulcan vocabulary, she could palpably see the concern for this ship and its crew rise in his stance.

He was right. She was emotionally compromised. Any decisions she might take from her on out could potentially work against her in the future. Might lead to hard to answer questions, and expose her to difficult truths that might become her undoing.

“Very well,” she said, reality yanking her back to the present. “I’ll pay the Doctor a visit,” she forced a smile.

If Tuvok’s anatomy was capable of displaying any sort of emotion other than neutral stoicism she would have read sympathy in his eyes. 


End file.
